Page 65 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘It’s one of my favourite places here,’ he tells me. ‘I think you’re going to love it.’
This could be just what I need. Spending more time with Henri, exploring a private, romantic cabin – it sounds like a great way to get inspired. Between scenes in my own life I keep working on my draft, here and there, adding in scenes that are purposefully awful, or just generally messing up what is already there, but it’s never too late to get some good inspiration, right?
‘Bonne nuit, Amber,’ Henri says, flashing me that charming smile. ‘Sleep well.’
‘Goodnight, Henri,’ I reply, feeling a bit lighter despite the heaviness in my stomach. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Finally alone, I get to take off my jeans, and plonk myself down on the bed.
Lying face down, I turn my head to the side, to look at my phone, only to see that I have a missed FaceTime call from my dad, from a few minutes ago. Oh boy, I should call him back, shouldn’t I? All I want to do is sleep but I’ve been trying to talk to him all day, and even though it turns out he is absolutely fine, for a few minutes I thought I might lose him. That’s as good a reason to talk to him now as any, right?
‘Amber!’ Dad answers almost immediately, his face filling the screen – why do dads hold the camera so close to their face? ‘Finally, you call back.’
‘Yep, hello,’ I say, giving him a wave. ‘So you were in the hospital today, huh?’
‘Yeah, I went to see Ken,’ he replies, thinking nothing of the wording. Honestly! ‘But that’s not why I’m calling. You won’t believe what your mother has done this time.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I say, trying to keep my tone neutral. ‘What’s going on?’
‘She’s gone completely mad!’ he begins his rant. ‘She’s decided to redecorate the living room without consulting me. Can you believe that? We’ve had the same wallpaper for twenty years, and she rips it off, like it’s nothing, days before Christmas! And don’t get me started on the new wallpaper she picked – it’s hideous! And she expects me to hang it.’
‘Okay, well,’ I start, but he doesn’t let me finish.
‘I’m telling you, Amber, it’s like living with a tornado,’ he continues. ‘One that removes wallpaper, and perfectly good carpet. She’s changing everything, and I’m supposed to just goalong with it. She hasn’t even consulted me and, if she did, she wouldn’t listen. She doesn’t even listen to my opinions any more. It’s like I don’t even exist!’
‘Dad, I’m sorry you’re feeling this way,’ I say, trying to comfort him.
If I’m being honest, I’m not used to him being so vocal. Usually he’s the strong, silent type.
‘Have you talked to her about how you feel?’ I ask.
‘Talked to her?’ he scoffs. ‘You know how she is. She’ll just say I’m being a miserable old bastard.’
I’m not sure she would drop a B-bomb, but I take his point.
‘I could try to talk to her,’ I reply. ‘Erm, actually, she’s calling me right now.’
‘Go,’ he instructs me. ‘Go talk to her. You’ll see.’
Ending the call with my dad and picking up a call from my mum feels like a case of ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire’, but it can’t always be on Tom to smooth things over.
I sigh, taking a split second to compose myself before I answer, bracing myself for round two.
‘Hello, Mum,’ I say brightly.
‘Amber, were you just on the phone with your father?’ she asks, her tone accusatory as she cuts to the chase.
‘Yes, he just called me, to say he was only at the hospital to visit Ken,’ I say, already feeling the stress headache forming in anticipation of whatever is coming next. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Am I okay? Oh, let me tell you,’ she starts, frustration building with each word. ‘Your bloody dad is being so difficult. I’m trying to make the house look nice, in time for Christmas, and all he does is complain. I’m doing all of this for the house, and he acts like I’m ruining his life. He’s so stuck in his ways. It’s just a bit of bloody wallpaper, and I’ve booked someone to do it, they’ll get it finished before Christmas. I can’t tell if he’s madbecause he thinks I want him to do it or because he thinks I don’t trust him to do it.’
‘Mum, I understand,’ I reassure her. ‘Maybe you two just need to sit down and talk about this. Really talk. It sounds like you’re both frustrated and not listening to each other.’
‘Oh, I’ve tried,’ she says, exasperated and, ironically, not listening to me. ‘But it’s impossible to have an adult conversation with him. It’s like talking to a brick wall covered in thirty-five-year-old wallpaper.’
I should have known, when they sat me and Tom down and explained to us that they were splitting up, that they were not as chill about it as they made out to be.
‘Okay, here’s what I think,’ I start – for what it’s worth. ‘The wallpaper is off, right?’
